


Mona Lisa

by BrookieTwiling



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternative Universe - Drag, Attempt at Humor, Bisexual!Gellert Grindelwald, Bisexual!Tom Riddle, Crack, Crack Treated Semi-Seriously, F/M, Gellert Grindelwald's Drag Name is Greta Goode, Genderqueer!Myrtle, Homophobic Language, I could have written something really dark with this pairing instead I wrote this, I'm Sorry, M/M, Multi, Myrtle Has Bad Parents, Myrtle Likes Dressing Up As A Boy And A Girl But Is Neither, Myrtle Warren's Drag Name is Ray Van Wryst, Non!Binary Myrtle, Pansexual!Myrtle Warren, Religious Content, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tom Riddle's Drag Name is Lady Voldemort, because why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23579911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrookieTwiling/pseuds/BrookieTwiling
Summary: Myrtle takes a sip of their tea as Gellert hands Tom his and then takes a sip of his own. They just sit there for a while, sipping their tea as the men non-so-subtly wait for Myrtle to talk.“I’m being stalked again,” Myrtle comments when they’ve finally drained their cups and stared into them for at least five minutes.The explosion was immediate and expected.aka; I had an idea for a Drag!AU with Tom Riddle being a Freak Queen, and somehow it turned into this.aka; I'm sorry.
Relationships: Gellert Grindelwald/Tom Riddle, Moaning Myrtle/Gellert Grindelwald, Moaning Myrtle/Tom Riddle, Moaning Myrtle/Tom Riddle/Gellert Grindelwald
Comments: 12
Kudos: 17
Collections: Sing Me a Rare: The Mash-Ups





	Mona Lisa

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sing-Me-A-Rare: Mash Ups.  
> Best Comedy Runner Up (thanks guys!)
> 
> Song Prompt: Dark Side - Pheobe Ryan & Lady Like - Ingrid Andress
> 
> Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made from this creation.

Myrtle’s running, tears falling in familiar streaks down their twisted face under the blaring sunlight. Sounds of objection and anger follow them as they shove their way through the crowds.

Finally, they skid to a stop by a small alleyway and, after a quick look behind them, they slip through a door set into the right wall.

“Afternoon Myr, decided to finally show up did you?” A platinum-blonde Queen inquires, as they come to a stop behind him, tears still dripping down their face.

Sobs wrack their body as they give themself over to the relieving feeling of _safe_.

Distantly, they can hear worried mutterings of, “Oh, Myrtle…” “What happened, suga’ baby?” “I wonder if they're alright?” “Of course, they’re not Emerald!” and the faint slap of a hand.

Nothing breaks through the buzzing in their ears and the stinging behind their eyes until, “Myrtle?”

They swing around and into the arms of Tom. _Safe, a bit prickly at times, but_ safe.

Arms come up around Myrtle’s back, holding them tightly, hands rubbing up and down.

Myrtle can still hear the worried murmurs around them, but soon they’re being guided out of the room with a, “come on, let’s get you to Gellert’s office.” and a kiss to the neck.

They walk through the winding rooms and up some short stairs until they reach the office of one Gellert Grindelwald, owner of _The Deathly Hallows_ , former political aspire and now-lover of Tom Riddle and Myrtle Warren.

“Tom? Myrtle? What happened?” His aged voice is edged in worry as they enter the room.

“Gel-lert…” Myrtle sobs, questioning thoughts racing through their head.

_Why do they keep doing this to me? Why can’t they leave me be? Why haven’t they just given up already?!_

Myrtle can hear movement around them, the sounds of china being moved and fabric shifting but focuses only on the hands guiding them to the plush, pale-blue sofa. On the warm, comfortable blanket that gets draped over them. The one they use so often that, now, it was practically drenched in their scents.

 _Hmm, Pineapple, Mango and Raspberries…_ Myrtle thinks as they breathe in the scents.

Their lovers settle around them, pulling them into an easy embrace, letting their steady warmth calm them as Myrtle’s tears, finally, start to falter.

Their breathing slows down, their sobs fall quiet and Myrtle finally manages to look up, blinking back tears enough to focus on the eyes watching them with unflappable gazes.

_They never care… no matter how often I break down they never lose their cool… that’s nice. I wish I could do that…_

“Yes, we’re aware,” Tom answers, drily, indicating Myrtle had spoken their thoughts again.

Gellert hands Myrtle a cup of tea, Earl Gray, no lemon. One orange and tinsy wincy pinch of milk.

…what? Myrtle knows they’re strange, okay, but, they found it on a whim thanks to the #UniLife and, it’s nice!

Anyway…

Myrtle takes a sip of their tea as Gellert hands Tom his (Blood Orange, shit tone of tooth-rotting sugar, if anyone cares to wonder) and then takes a sip of his own (plain old black tea, no milk or sugar. Go figure, right?). They just sit there for a while, sipping their tea as the men non-so-subtly wait for Myrtle to talk.

(They liked to make it seem that they’re letting Myrtle catch a breath and sort their thoughts, but Myrtle knows that even after ten months of knowing each other, they still have no clue what to do when Myrtle gets in one of their crying tissy’s. It’s like ‘here- we’ll give you comfort and tea and silence, that’ll do the trick.

Myrtle refuses to admit that it actually _does_.)

“I’m being stalked again,” Myrtle comments when they’ve finally drained their cups and stared into them for at least five minutes.

The explosion was immediate and expected.

“God damn it! You would have thought they would have gotten the message last time one of them came near you and we ran them out of town with baseball bats!” Tom exclaims.

“Don’t forget the bananas,” Myrtle adds.

Tom glares at them briefly, “We don’t talk about the bananas,” and Myrtle shrugs in response.

“Yes, well, nevertheless, it seems they haven’t. Maybe its time to up our tactics…” Gellert tells them in his ‘I am most definitely (but totally am) not plotting murder right now’ voice.

 _You’re not fooling anyone in here with that voice, Gellert._ Myrtle thinks, _I would have thought you would have picked up on that by now._

“Gellert. We’re not killing them.” Myrtle deadpans, “It would draw too much attention,” and they go for a subtle, perfectly timed sip of their tea, only to remember at the last second that there’s none left.

 _Damn it_ , they think.

“So what do you expect us to do? Offer them tea, sit them down and have a nice chat?!” Tom asks, rhetorically, his own ’totally not plotting murder over here, have a nice day motherfucker’ voice in full use.

“Actually…” Myrtle intones, “That’s not a bad idea.”

Gellert and Tom pause their mental plotting (Myrtle just _knows_ they were mentally plotting. They usually were. Myrtle also suspects that they were mentally plotting _with each other_ , but that was just a theory up to this point. Very in-sync those two… very suspicious…. hmm…) and they look at Myrtle, their faces reflecting that they believed Myrtle to be crazy.

Erm… crazy-er. …ish 

Yeah…

“Well, just think about it.” Myrtle tells them, ideas springing to mind like someone turned on a faucet up in there, “What if we did just that, or near that. Okay, so they ask for tea at the bar, or water, whatever. We drug him- oh don’t look at me like that, I know you keep Ketamine here for reasons we won’t go into right now.”

Myrtle pauses to let the shifty feeling and bad spirits at mentioning ’The Thing That Must Not Be Named (unless it’s happening, in which case fine, name it; other bad shit’s happening so naming it’s fine)’ pass out of the room before continuing, “Then, when he starts going down we say he’s drunk and pull him to the backroom. Then, once he’s there, we strip him naked and dress him in drag. Set him on the world and let _him_ know what it feels like when someone dresses you up in clothes that don’t assign your gender, force you into something that you don’t like. Well, that’s assuming that he _isn’t_ actually a repressed LGBTQIA person… in which case, eh, at least we’re helping a person out. Win-win situation, in my eyes.”

Myrtle was quite proud of the plan they’d put together. Totally would work. Well, probably. Possibly. Like… 76%

…yeah, Myrtle just made that number up. Hush! No one need know…

“Sounds like a good plan, bar, a few, small, minor details…” Gellert replies once he was sure Myrtle was finished speaking.

Anddd insert sounds of shattering glass. _Well, at least he’s not downright stating that it’s a terrible plan like the_ last _four times. Must have improved. Yay me!_

“Yes, just a few tweaks here and there and the plan could work but, Myrtle, my love?”

“Yes, Tom, my evil Jormie, my darling Serperior?”

Tom scowls at the mention of those dreaded nicknames, then smiles his evil smile. You know, the one that’s used by children and (r/)EntitledParents when they think they’re about to bring someone down?

Yeah, that one. Only with Tom? It’s _real_.

“Why don’t we just put small portions of Vodka in his tea?”

Now, remember that shattered glass? Yeah, they’ve just been crushed underfoot into nice little ice particles.

Cold, Tom. Cold…

-{This is Page Break in Case You Were Not Aware}-

We shall now take time out of our previously scheduled Myrtle POV to follow #StalkerGuy, a friend of Myrtle’s parents who has been stalking Myrtle for the past two weeks with the promise that...

_‘If you bring our sweet, innocent, mislead daughter home, she’ll marry you.’_

Yeah… Myrtle’s parents are delusional. One of those extreme Mormon fundamentalist families, you know? Teen Myrtle could not get out fast enough when college came around.

Anyway. Currently, #StalkerGuy is ‘bravely venturing into the devil’s den of delectable sin’ his words, not mine.

He’s watching the ‘God Protect me that man over there is kissing another man!’ and the ‘I think I might faint, those women… oh my Lord, are they looking this way?!’… so, let’s just say normality? ‘By God’s name the vulgarity of this place! Doing all these sinful things in such a public place! Oh, where is this poor, coerced girl, I must find her soon before she is lead astray…”

Dude! Chill out, it’s a _gay_ bar. Shits fine.

Now, go over to McDonald's at school letting out time… whoo. Now _that’s_ a delectable den of sin, let me tell you.

…

…yeah okay, actually that sounded better in my head. I meant the food. Clearly. Not the… Yeah… Just… just ignore me. The narrator is an idiot. We already established that in the tags. Hopefully.

Back to the story where #StalkerGuy is so distracted by the ‘sights’, by the ‘blatant mockery of our sacred nation’ (i.e the blue, red and white lights shining across the floor, apparently _completely_ ignoring the green, pink, purple, orange, yellow, silver _and_ gold ones) that he jumps maybe two feet(?) in the air when a voice asks, “Can I get you something?”

He whips around, sweat gathering at his brow as he squints through the darkened room, searching for the evil, demented demon who _must have realized he was an imposter and, oh God help me because I can’t go to hell. I don’t want to be corrupted…_ and all this time while he’s just there internally monologuing, this red-haired, pale freckly skinned and bright blue-eyed woman is staring at him from behind the bar, wondering if he’ll just order already.

“Mate, you gonna order or not?” It’s at this point that he realizes it’s the red-headed woman who’s talking to him and 'gazing down at him like a devil hiding in an angel’ which… yeah, okay, accurate description.

“Umm, tea. Please. Earl Grey if you’ve got it. Umm… thank you.” Because his mother raised him to be polite… well, unless it’s too ungodly women or demons. Of which this woman is probably both, but still, he needs to blend in.

No one can suspect that he isn’t the same as them. But wait… _do demons even say 'please' and 'thank you’?!_

Before he can think too much on it, however, the woman says, “Coming right up,” and quickly, efficiently, grabs a cup, kettle, teapot and tea bag and comes back, placing the teabag in the pot, and filling it up with the pre-boiled kettle.

What. People drink a lot of tea. …even in bars. …probably.

His eyes stalk the teapot and cup as he watches the water poor, and the tea brew, _I shall not give them the chance to swindle me with their magic, the foul demons! I am too smart!_ He thinks.

Pity he’ll forget this resolve later on.

“First timer, huh?” The red-head asks as she watches him make funny cross eyes at the tea. Her mouth quirks as she watches him jump slightly. She knows who this man is. She has no mercy. Still, playing parts and all that…

“Don’t worry, everyone’s super nice and if anyone gives you a hard time, you can always ask Fred and George, they’re my brothers over there,” She points behind him to a spot where two identical red-headed men were leaning against a stairway, watching the floor with quick eyes.

 _Doppelgängers_ , he thinks as soon as he turns around and spots them, _demon children with eyes of red to match their hair_ , he believes as the red spotlight skims over their faces.

The woman was still speaking, “….to deal with them. They’re bouncers here, so they’ll be able to deal with them, ‘kay?”

She looks at him and the man mentally describes her eyes as ‘bewitching’. _Witch_. He thinks, _Succubi_.

But still, he was trying to appear as if he belonged and so, “Alright, thank you.” He tells her, quickly taking a sip of his scalding tea, pausing at the flavor when he notices an orange in his cup instead of a _lemon_. He raises a brow.

“Boss’s partner likes people to try new things.” The woman says in answer, then walks off to serve a pretty light-haired ‘angel’ with dosey blue eyes. Smiling at her softly and subtly holding her hand.

And so, the man settles in for the night, sipping his tea and telling off more than one interested party. _Foul scum_ , he thinks.

 _Repressed, stuck in the closet_ , they think back.

He’s not sure how long he’s there, but the woman comes back several times to refill his pot and as time goes by he feels lighter, less weighted. Warm fire filling him.

His mind runs with dread, _their magic is affecting me_ … he thinks and, well, he’s not entirely wrong…

Still, he stays stout in his mission. _I must save the girl_ , he thinks, _I cannot return without her._

And that’s about the time when the music starts.

Now, there had been music playing all night, performers coming up, one after another for hours and while some pulled his focus, either for their vulgarity, absurdity or downright _blasphemy_ , #StalkerMan hadn’t really been paying all that much attention to the main stage up until this point. But this next act? Whoo, I don’t think _anyone_ could keep their eyes away…

Blood poured down over-large lips. A body moved with a grace no monster should possess (and #StalkerMan was _sure_ this mysterious being was a monster and not simply Freak Queen, Lady Voldemort. Well established drag queen known for her rather strange, unusual and barrier-breaking routines and outfits).

He was sure, as he watched, that he was falling under some kind of magic spell, his head getting heavier and the world around him becoming lighter and airier as time passed.

_I drink tequila straight_  
_Haven't brushed my hair in days_  
_And I'll kiss on the first date_  
_If I'm really feeling it_

People start cheering and whistling as Lady Voldemort moves around, running her hands up her body, bending and moving seductively.

Meanwhile, #StalkerGuy’s over by the bar, his eyes glued to the ‘monster’ because ‘oh Golly Miss Molly’ (okay, lowkey, totally not the phrasing he uses, but I wanted to bring a little variant into it, okay? Just saying ‘Oh my Lord!’ and ‘By God’s Good Name’ and the like all the time just seems so boring, ya know?) ‘what if it tries to _eat_ me! What if it’s a soul eater! Or… *gasps* a VAMPIRE!!!!!’

Yeah… this guy? This guy’s dumb.

Why is he dumb? Simple.

 _This_ particular gay bar wasn’t frequented by vampires thanks to the utilization of UV lights. Oh yeah, these bitches be prepared man!

_I don’t even own a dress_

Still, didn’t stop #StalkerGuy from flinching back when Lady Voldemort curls her lips back, bearing her fake-blood-coated teeth to the audience.

_Bite my nails when I get stressed_  
_Do whatever for attention if I’m needin’ it_

#StalkerGuy’s heart’s racing by this point, his palms sweating and he’s acutely aware of the eyes on him. He’s noticed them since he walked into the bar, but only now are they truly making him want to flee.

The world around him starts to distort. The lights hurt his eyes and there’s a persistent buzzing sound in his ears.

The red-headed bartender watches all this with a keen eye and signals to her brothers.

This is pretty much perfect timing.

_Controversial, so outspoken_  
_I've been told I'm not Lady like_

The crowd roars and his ears pulse with it.

_But I'm a Lady like_

He flinches, his movements becoming slower as the monster on stage starts moving in a ‘strange, ritualistic dance’, blowing back and moving its body in rippling movements.

The monster’s movements seem, to #StalkerGuy’s messed up gaze, to get faster as he gets slower. _I… I knew this… this… demon…_

_Woah, I could bring you to your knees and_  
_Get you kicked out the Garden of Eden_  
_Untamable, unframeable, Mona Lisa, oh_

Somehow he still has the thought process for _The blasphemy! The irony! You’ll be the one kicked out of paradise when the time comes, demon, not me!_ before he falls back into his drunkness.

_Kiss you like a whiskey fire_  
_Turn around, leave your heart in a riot_  
_Lipstick in a cigarette pack on the dash_  
_I'm a lady like that_

Then, suddenly, as if a sign from his blessed Lord, the lighting on the stage goes dark enveloping Lady Voldemort in natural darkness as the spotlights shift position to converge on the top of the stairs to the VIP lounge (which was less a VIP lounge, more a quiet room for those that needed a quieter atmosphere but still wanted to enjoy a night out. Normal people just got less pissy when they thought they couldn't go in because they couldn't afford it, rather than them simply being too loud.)

More cheers (cause this is a room of primarily gay and drunk folk, and this is entertaining, so why _not_ scream at the top of your lungs to show your appreciation and totally deafen the person sitting next to you, right? And no. Totally not a story there.) at the sight of the man standing there. Well, not man. King.

Ray Van Wryst.

No, I won’t explain who it is just yet.

Though, I’m sure some of you might have worked it out already. Smart cookies have a cookie! (that is, go down to your local non-chain store- Support Local Businesses!- and by one… er, or just add it to your ‘to do when I finally can leave the house list’. And/or)

_Sometimes I forget not to talk 'bout politics_  
_When I'm in the middle of me gettin' hit on_

Ray pauses on the stairs to wink at the Angel next to him. At least, #StalkerGuy assumes he’s an angel by the white hair he sees but then again. He can’t see the eyes…

…or the smirk. 

#StalkerGuy gets to watch as Ray does this little… bunny(?!) pose. You know the one, where someone sticks their ass out with an ‘oh no’ expression on their face, then flicks a foot up like they’re in the Princess Diaries and hops out of it? Yes? No?

Well, unfortunately, #StalkerGuy _doesn’t_ know this pose and so instead he thinks _What kind of man is this? He must be a demon too!_

Yeah…

_Let curse words fly when shit goes wrong_

Suddenly the crowd parts like the man is Moses and they the Red Sea (just a great analogy there, please pause while the narrator claps theirself on the back. … …okay, continue) as the man saunters his way across the room in direction of the bar. In the direction of…  
  
_Controversial, so outspoken_

Ray is now bending across #StalkerGuy, making him extremely uncomfortable as they lean in, forcing him back as their eyes connect. 

But don’t feel bad for #StalkerGuy. Because he’s about to make a discovery.

 _Those eyes… surely not…_ He’s thinking.

Because apparently even in a drunken haze he can still see and recognize those eyes.

But just those eyes, any other eyes and he’d be just like ‘wha….?’

…shut up, naysayers. I’m saying it happened so it happened, okay? …no? What do you mean no?! Just-ghaskdmkfnf-AH! …shut up.

His mind swirls as the drag king twirls and #StalkerGuy feels their curves pressing up against his torso.

Long, thin arms, loop his neck and for a brief second his mind clears enough for a modicum of thought and, _No… It can’t be…_

_But I'm a lady like_

Ray twirls again this time leaving, walking backward through the crowd towards the main stage, the spotlight following in a blazing trail.

#StalkerGuy watches all this with a disbelieving glare.

_Woah, I could bring you to your knees and_  
_Get you kicked out the Garden of Eden_  
_Untamable, unframeable, Mona Lisa, oh_

With what limited brain function he has left, he remembers the photo in his pocket and struggles to grab it.

_Kiss you like a whiskey fire_  
_Turn around, leave your heart in a riot_  
_Lipstick in a cigarette pack on the dash_

It takes him a while, but eventually, he wrangles it free and looks at the photo. ‘Man’ on stage. Photo. ‘Man’ on stage.

“What in His Holy Name?!“ He tries to say.

It comes out more like “Wha ‘n ‘is ‘ol-ly ‘Na-a-me-e?”

_I'm a lady like that_

He stupidly shakes his head, only making his headache worse. By this point, his head is pounding like old Uncle John was hammering a couple tacks into it and if he’d ever read any fiction book that _wasn’t_ the bible he would reference Alice falling down the Rabbit Hole, to explain the way the world was spinning out of control around him.

His thoughts spiral in barely catchable phrases and queries. I’ll save you the fragments.

_I'm a lady like that_

_Controversial, so outspoken_  
_I've been told I'm not lady like_

But, basically, it all amounts to him being unable to believe that someone he _knew_ (because being members of the same community means you _totally_ know everything about a person) was a… 

“Heathen.” He muttered, “De-eamo’n!” He slurs.  
  
_But I'm a lady like_  
_Woah, I could bring you to your knees and_  
_Get you kicked out the Garden of Eden_

“’ow cou’d you? ‘oul, disgus-disgus-disgust… Vile! ...’ou let you’self be-be corru-upted, ‘s wha ‘ou le’ ‘our’elf be…” and a lot more mutterings and grumblings. Stuff about God and demons. I dunno. It’s really hard to understand, hold on…

_Untamable, unframeable, Mona Lisa, oh_  
_Kiss you like a whiskey fire_

“…’on’t know ‘hy they’d ev’r-ever ’ant ‘ou ba-back… Im’ure, un’orthy… a s-slut…”

Now by this point, people are starting to notice his loud, drunken behavior. Not particularly uncommon in a bar, but he’s gotten out of his chair and is stumbling forwards, backward, downward and up. The aforementioned red-headed twins are already picking their way across the packed club even as some poor guy tries to help out…

“Hey, I think you might need to sit down…”

…and gets insulted in the process…

“Ge’ of-off me ‘ou fa’g-got. ‘od will-will smit-smite ‘ou down de-emon, just ‘ou wait!”

_Turn around, leave your heart in a riot_  
_Lipstick in a cigarette pack on the dash_

“The hell you just call me?!”

“I think you need to calm down, you’ve had a lot to drink.”

“Probably a first-timer. See the way he’s dressed? Definitely from a repressive background, the poor bloke’s probably overwhelmed...”

“Fucker better not puke on me.”

And now others are getting involved. It’s quite the scene. But can we please remember Lady Voldemort and Ray Van Wryst on stage just slaying it to a song both connect to? No? Oh… alright. Eh, they’ll be back in the story in just a few moments anyway.

_I'm a lady like_

“Can you come with us, you’ve had too much to drink, we’ll take you somewhere to cool down, okay?”

Oh yay, the twins have finally turned up!  
  
“No!”

Oh, nevermind.

“Hey, now just calm down, we’re trying to help you.”

“It’s okay, you’re safe.” “It’s okay, you’re safe.”

Still trying to do their jobs though, so that’s good.

_Woah, I could bring you to your knees and_  
_Get you kicked out the Garden of Eden_

_Red._ He thinks, _There’s red in my vision. The demon doppelgangers, coming to drag me into the pits of hell and despair!_

…ah. Nevermind.

“Mate, you should come with us…”

“…we’ll take you somewhere to cool down.”

“Is that alright?” “Is that alright?”

_Untamable, unframeable, Mona Lisa, oh_  
_Kiss you like a whiskey fire_

“’et ‘our ‘ilt’y, de-devil-ish ha-an’s of-f-f me…!”  
  
“What was that, sir? I can’t understand you, your speech is slurred.”

I think we’re hitting the endgame now…

_Turn around, leave your heart in a riot_  
_Lipstick in a cigarette pack on the dash_  
_I'm a lady like that_

…ah yes. Here’s Gellert. The so-called ‘angel’ from before.

He’s too out of it to notice the angel’s ‘abnormal’ eyes. One black, one ice blue…

“I think you’ve have had too much to drink, sir, please will you let us help you?”

“Angel…”

And yes. Gellert totally smirks at that. Egotistical idiot.

_I’m a Lady like that…_

Oh, wait.... is that?

Yes! Ehehmm…

Anndddd- Cue blackout! *Guy drops into one of the ‘devil’ twin’s arms* and… yes! totally nailed it!

-{Here Is Another Page Break But I’m Sure You Knew That}-

Now back to your regularly scheduled Myrtle POV.

“He’s awake!”

Myrtle looks up at the call, their eyes instantly falling to the man sitting on a chair at the other end of the room. Myrtle looks to Gellert and Tom who are sitting next to them and receives nods from both before standing. They’ll follow Myrtle’s lead on this.

Everyone else has quietened down at Emerald’s shout so the only sounds were the buzz of the last remnants of the crowd outside, the final few people de-dragging for the night (Tom already had, and so had Myrtle, somewhat. They rather liked their tight, skin-tight pants and the long flowy peasant blouse. They’d taken off the coat, however, and cleaned off the make-up, the pink mustache, and beard. They’d also left the chest binder on. But that was a given with their current mood.) and the man in the chair, groaning in agony.

“Wha… whas happen’n’?” He groans, lifting his hand to his pounding head.

“You drank too much and passed out. Fred and George brought you back here to cool down.” Tom tells him, his voice ringing with authority.

“Drank… too… much…?” And Myrtle can practically _see_ the confusion running through his mind… He thought he’d only drank tea…

 _Idiot who thinks he knows it all but really knows nothing at all_ , Myrtle thinks, viciously. They have to fight to keep a bubbling giggle down. _Not the time, not the time._

“Yeah, Gin told you to slow down, but you were really going at it.” Ron butts in and bites back on his chocolate bar. 

Never able to keep his mouth shut, even when _eating_ , that one. Myrtle shoots him a small glare.  
  
“I… was?”

“Yeah, but don’t sweat it,” Ron replies around a mouthful of dark chocolate and hazelnut, “You’re not the first of your type to come around. No judgment here. But uh, maybe just stick to water next time?”

“I thought did…?” Cause tea’s water. Technically.

“Na, mate, you were guzzling that vodka down like it was water, that’s what you were doing.”

“Ron!” Ahh, good ol’ Hermione. Always stepping in _after_ the fact.

 _Children these days_ , Myrtle thinks despite they themself being only five years the teenager’s senior

Still, the man in the chair looks like he wasn’t really focusing on anything, his mind like a mushy banana (Myrtle was instantly reminded of the Banana and the Baseball Bat incident) when, suddenly, he shoots up… aaaaand immediately falls back down.

Because head rush.

He mutters something, a strange garble that reminds Myrtle vaguely of Stitch, from Lilo & Stitch.

“What was that?” Tom asks, his tone innocently evil.

Yes, that is a thing.

“em’ns.” He mutters a little louder.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” Gellert responds and if they kept saying the only little shits at _The Deathly Hallows_ were Emerald and Golden one more time, Myrtle now had witnesses to end their lying.

“DEMONS!” He yells and Myrtle is thankful the few people still in the bar were as drunk as he was at this point or otherwise _that_ would be an explanation and a half.

And possibly a witch hunt… but then again probably not.

Myrtle sometimes forgot that not everyone had a flair for the dramatics like they and the drag kings and queens did.

Tom snorts, “demons? Really? I mean I know Emerald can be a bloody devil most of the time.” “HEY!” “But really, _demons_?”

_Forgetting you’re your own ‘bloody devil’ are ya, loverboy? Yeah, we’re so gonna be talking about this later. Preferably in bed… with raspberry sauce._

Tom nudged Myrtle and gave a smirk, "I'd be up for that, Ravenette." Indicating Myrtle'd spoken out loud. _Again_.

"Damn it."

They would have loved to shut up Tom's smirk then and there, but there wasn’t time for that right now so Myrtle, instead, put a little distance between them and walked closer to the confused man, “Hello, Stalker Guy! Nice of you to finally show your face to me,” and what a pretty face it was. Now, at least.

“Myr-Myrtle?! What are you doing?! Dressed in man’s ware! They’ve gotten to you, haven’t they?” His voice turns accusatory, “Tainted you with their foulness! But worry not, sweet girl, you can still come home, the church will help you recover. We’ll burn their wickedness out of you. You can still be saved!” He tries to persuade Myrtle, vainly.

 _Yes, sure, because I desperately want to go back to that backwater hellhole, hole in the ground, pissposh piece of horse shit, you two-faced gallon of bittersweet piss?!_ Myrtle thinks.

“Who says I want, or need, to be saved?” Is what Myrtle says.

“Of course, you want to be saved! You’re from a good family, you were a good girl. You’re just misled, but absolution can still come for you. You can still enter paradise!”  
  
“I know I can… I’ve already been there. _Many_ times.” Myrtle smirks and doesn’t need to look to know that their men are brisling up like prideful porcupines done their jobs right.  
  
“Wh-what?”

“I’ve already found paradise. My paradise. Home. Here. With my men. My family.” And here Myrtle loops their arms around Gellert and Tom, who move in close and pull Myrtle into them in turn.

“Me-en?!” His face turns a shade of purple that Myrtle has never seen before, but apparently Emerald has if his ‘Hey, he looks like Vernon!’ comment is anything to go by.

“What monstrous babble is this?” The man manages to splutter out, glaring at them with ferocious eyes.

Myrtle blinks, “Freewill and self-empowerment?”

“… …Don’t tell me you let these horrid demons take your blessed maidenhood?!” He gasps, his face expressing alllll his horror and disapproval at _that_ idea.

Myrtle can hear Princess ask in disbelief, “' _Blessed maidenhood_?’”

Someone else, Ima, mutters, “Really? _That’s_ his response?”

“Where did he even…” Hermione trails off and Myrtle can hear her sighing as Emerald and Ron snigger. Another faint slap.

Now, Myrtle, themself? They just stare at the man for a few seconds before letting free the giggles that had receded up until that point.

And so, Myrtle, starts giggling, the laughing, the _cackling_ an unnerving, almost unending, hysterical cackle. Tears falling down their face as they lean on their men for support.

 _‘Blessed maidenhood’ hahhahahaaa, ahhh, shit like that cracks me up, it really does._ (And yes, they are muttering out loud again. But shush. Myrtle doesn't know they do it as much as they do and the shit they think man...)

Then, all of a sudden, Myrtle stops. Pauses for a few moments, gathers their breath and then says in their most frosted, Gellert-when-angry tone, Tom-after-someone-eats-the-last-strawberry-tart voice, “Darling, my ‘maidenhood’ was taken years ago, and it certainly wasn’t ‘blessed’ then.”

“…demon.”

“Seriously?” It isn’t Myrtle, or Tom, or Gellert who speak this time. It’s Princess Ignis, _The Deathly Hallows_ own spoiled little admonishing brat, “That’s your honest response? Wow, Myr, you really weren’t exaggerating when you said they were extremely dumb!”

 _I didn’t exactly word it like that, Princess,_ Myrtle thinks, _...but, yeah... it’s probably better he_ _edited  
_

Then… this happens.

“Demons, devilish serpents, hear this! I am of God’s children and,” He grabbed at the chain around his neck, fumbling to brandish the heavy cross there as if _that’ll_ do anything against them, “you cannot harm me as I am protected by the love and vengeance of God! You will free this child of God and let us leave, or God shall smite you down with his… umm… Godly powers!”

…right… crazy person at 12 o’clock anyone?

Myrtle groans, the tears still falling, unstoppable at this point. _One word and it all falls down, how humiliating_ , they think as they say, firmly, “Look, all we want, is for you to leave us alone. Leave _me_ alone. Tell my parents that I’m gone, lost, irredeemable. _Whatever_. Just get them off my back. Alright, Stalker Guy?”

“My name’s-!”

“We really couldn’t care less,” Tom adds in, his tone suggesting he’s over this already.

The man gapes and he looks on the verge of an explosion when he _finally_ notices what they’ve done to him, his eyes catching the billowy fabric trailing around his arm.

They watch as he examines it in disbelief, then stands up and turns about as if _that_ will change the fact that he’s now wearing a dress. A rather nice, if cheap, one if you care to wonder Myrtle’s opinion. Well, once nice.

“The fuck is this?!”

“I thought he wasn’t allowed to swear?” Emerald asks.

“Probably one of those ‘you can’t, but we can’ kinda things,” Hermione replies.

“Ahhh…”

By now, there is so much color in #StalkerGuy’s face and neck that Myrtle is starting to get genuinely worried that he might spontaneously combust.

_Ugh, if you do, don’t do it here please, there’s way too many hard-to-replace items in here. The side doors just over there, okay? Bye…_

(Tom and Gellert very amusedly _don't_ point out that they heard every word of _that_ particular 'thought')

Still, they all watch as he looks at himself in one of the full-length mirrors. Watch as he takes in the long, flowing, navy blue dress that had a few bleach stains on the back from an accident a few years ago involving Emerald’s drag mother, Golden Starr. His short, blonde hair is hidden under a long, old, ratty brown wig with a center parting that took way too long to comb down enough that it was semi-wearable.

Also, the breasts. Well, stuffed, rolled up old socks made to give the illusion of breasts, but really. They didn’t want to spend a dime on him, so they had to get creative.

“Oh, God…”

Ahh, must have seen his eyes. Gellert had done a great job of doing a relatively quick, yet fine work of art on the man’s face. Big wings of green, blue and gold, black lashes billowing out from his face and pink, rosy cheeks. Lips pale and plump-looking. His face and skin pasty to all heck.

“What have you demons done to me?!” He exclaims, backing up against the wall, still clutching his cross out in front of him.

 _Wait… he… he doesn’t actually think we’re demons, right?_ Myrtle thinks, _…naa, no one’s that stupid._ Somehow, they aren’t so sure.

“What do you mean? We helped you as you asked.” Gellert tells him, using that persuasive voice of his that could make one agree to anything. “You see after we brought you back here, you were rambling, talking about demons and monsters and how ungodly it was that you liked how we looked so much.”

“So then when you threw up all over your _own_ clothes, we gave you an old dress that we had lying about. I do so hope you don’t mind, but it was either that or a short, tight gold number with a tear in the leg.” Tom finishes in his most earnest tone.

The man wasn’t really listening as he freaked out over his change in dress, more disturbed that he actually _did_ look good, than that he was in clothing not fitting for a man to wear.

“The make-up?!” he yells, his voice raising an octave or two in pitch.

“Umm, my fault!” Emerald cried, “Sorry, but I couldn’t help myself. Your bone structure is just so right for it, and you got to admit you look lovely right now.”

“'Look lovely’?! I’m a gaudy mess!”  
  
“'Gaudy?!’” Hermione says, deeply offended on behalf of her friend, “Look I get that you may not like it and maybe we should have gotten more than a drunken yes, but that doesn’t mean that you can just insult my friend’s hard work!”

Ahh, good old Hermione. Myrtle knew they liked that girl for a reason.

Stalker Man looks like he’s about to combust in his anger. An explosion, or implosion, pretty much imminent when-

_Beep-beep Beep-beep_

The man lets out a little, undignified yelp, frantically looking around only to grumble in embarrassment as he realized it was his own phone, which was sitting on the floor by the chair he’d been in. 

Next to a bucket. You know, scene placement and all.

He dives for it, eyeing them all wearily before he checks the text.

Myrtle gets to feel the extreme joy (and relief) of watching all the color just drain completely from his body as his shoulders slump and he frantically starts texting, glancing their way every two seconds as if checking whether they were coming near him or not. Which they weren’t.

Still, the man watches them all like a caged animal getting more and more agitated every second as he continues typing.

“Something come up?” Tom, the little shit, prompts causing the man to jump again, almost dropping his phone.

Myrtle can practically see the debate going on within his head. Stay here and fight them, or deal with whatever was going on on the other end of his phone. Another _beep-beep_ makes his decision for him.

“This isn’t the end of this!” He tells them, then dives for a door and opens it, rushing through.

It’s the supply closet and he’s out again in a few moments. 

“Backdoor’s that way.” Myrtle points when he looks their way and he eyes them warily, but runs towards it, speeding up when he passes Ima, Princess, Hermione, Ron, and Emerald who are still loitering at this point. Why? Probably to tell the story to everyone else later on.

_Teenagers._

Myrtle, Tom and Gellert follow him to the door and watch as he runs down the alley and out into the night.

“Stay with us tonight, love?” Tom asks, wrapping his arm around Myrtle, an hour or so later, as Gellert goes to make sure everything’s been close up for the night and that everyone, bar them has left.

“Of course.”

And if Myrtle saw Emerald’s cousin, Dudley, at the club with his boyfriend, Piers, the next night, a bandage covering Dudley’s right hand? Well, he was just watching Emerald perform in his new wig that looked suspiciously like that pink one he’d been eyeing from Lady Voldemort’s collection.

And if Gellert sent his old acquaintance, Police Commissioner Percival Graves an expensive vintage wine for his and his partners, Theseus and Credence’s, anniversary the next month, well, he was just being generous, right?

So what if a few months later Myrtle finds out that the man was called back to the church as there had been a fire set off in some of the joint communal buildings, but was pulled over for speeding and arrested for drinking while under the influence on his way back.

It was just karma, right?

Still, if Myrtle spent a night ‘rewarding’ Tom and Gellert for their misdeeds, well. Only they would know.


End file.
